Fast Food Nation
by Linwe Elendil
Summary: Alan represents a beautiful woman in a breach of contract suit. Can he keep his mind on the case, or will he be derailed? First BL fic. Please R&R!
1. Holiday Spirit

Disclaimer: Just in case it wasn't obvious, I do not own the rights to Boston Legal, or even anything that says "Crane, Poole, and Schmidt on it. Sad, isn't it?

This takes place sometime before the third season opening. Doesn't really matter when. And yes, in my lovely little world of Boston Legal, it is coming up on Christmas.

* * *

Alan Shore walked the halls of Crane, Poole, and Schmidt – thinking once again that they were far too bright. The sunlight that poured in through the copious windows, along with the occasional glare from Brad's inhumanely white teeth, severely tempted Alan to wear sunglasses indoors. Rounding the corner to his office, he came quite close to bowling over Shirley Schmidt, one of the senior partners. 

He took in her black trousers and maroon shirt, sighing as he looked up at her face. "My, aren't we festive today," he said glibly.

"Alan…" Shirley began, "Dare I ask?"

"What?" Alan queried, looking around. Shirley nodded toward his face. "Oh, this?" he questioned – exuding innocence as he pointed to the flashing red ball on the end of his nose. "Most employees around here seem to be in lacking the Spirit of the Season. I merely thought someone should lead by example."

"Lose the nose Alan. We have a client."

"Wonderful," he replied – leaving the offending proboscis in place. "Perhaps I can persuade them to join my cause." Shirley rolled her eyes and turned, heading for the conference room. Alan followed behind, smiling.

xXx

Alan couldn't help it; he stared at the beautiful woman sitting before him. She was nothing short of voluptuous – a woman that only the ancient Greeks could fully appreciate. Her ample bosom was covered by a disappointingly well-fitting white blouse (he wished it could have been just a little tighter – as it was, he would only give it a five), and navy blazer. A matching blue skirt was smoothed over her hips, and Alan had to stop himself from imagining how she looked as she walked.

"Who's the reindeer?" she asked in a velvet voice, snapping Alan from his reverie. He raised his chin fractionally as Shirley answered her.

"This is Alan Shore," she said by way of introduction, "A capable, if somewhat… eccentric attorney. Alan, this is Michelle Westenburg – until recently the foremost spokesperson for a major fast food chain." Michelle reached out a hand, and Alan shook it warmly before moving around the table to sit across from her. He removed his nose-gear for the moment, but left it blinking next to a waiting legal pad. He might have imagined it, but he thought he saw the woman smile. Shirley took a seat at the end of the massive table, and Alan got down to business.

"So, you were a spokeswoman until very recently. I assume the loss of employment is the reason you're here." Michelle nodded. "What happened?"

She looked at him openly as she told her story. "As part of my contract, I ate a number of items prepared by the company during the filming of the advertisements. The more popular the commercials became, the more I made. And the more money the company made off of me." She didn't seem fazed that Alan didn't recognize her, and he made no move to explain that he avoided television whenever possible. She continued. "After a year and a half of these ads, I began to gain weight. It became more noticeable, and last week – two years into a three-year contract – the company terminated me. They refused to give an official reason, but one of the producers told me in confidence that it was due to my 'changed appearance'." She leaned forward a bit in her chair. "I can't believe how hypocritical they are. It was eating their food during shoots, sometimes thirty takes a day – that made me look like this. I despise fast food, Mr. Shore, and I have a dietitian whose advice I follow to the letter – with only one notable exception."

"He didn't want you to take the job," Alan filled in.

She sat back again. "He didn't want me to take the job," she echoed.

Alan nodded, turning to Shirley. "So we're suing them for…?"

"Breach of contract," Michelle answered. "We'd never get them on the weight gain."

Alan nodded. "You're probably right."

"No one in advertising will hire me now, Mr. Shore. In their eyes I simply can't sell anything."

"Except perhaps Weight Watchers," Alan added. To his surprise, she smiled.

"Their offer came in two days ago, at fully half my usual salary. It was summarily rejected."

Alan smiled back. Perhaps today was going to be a good day after all...

* * *

And… cue the theme music! 

So, what do you think? This is my first foray into Boston Legal, and I suppose I should let it be known that I hate anything resembling a Mary Sue. I hope Michelle has a bit more substance than that… ;-)


	2. Better Than Sex

Disclaimer: Same as always. No right to be doing this. :-( Other than the fact that it's fun! :-D

* * *

Alan leaned back in his usual chair on the balcony, already nursing some scotch as he waited for Denny. But after the brief meeting with Michelle, he hadn't been able to get her off his mind.

"Mind if I join you?"

He couldn't possibly be hallucinating. He wasn't that drunk. Yet. The soft brush of fabric on his arm as Michelle walked past told him that this wasn't a dream. Taking in her curious expression and full lips he had to admit to himself – _not a dream. This is better._ Alan gestured to Denny's seat and Michelle sank gracefully into it. He raised his glass as an offer, but she shook her head. They sat in silence for a while, contemplating the stars. Alan didn't ask why she had sought him out. He had more important things on his mind.

"You don't strike me as fitting the typical mold of actress," Alan said, finally breaking the silence as he looked in her eyes.

She stared unflinchingly back. "Because I'm smart?" Michelle retorted.

"No, it's not that. Something more along the lines of 'unfettered intelligence' I should say. You're not afraid to let others see how complex of a person you really are."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment, Mr. Shore."

"Call me Alan. And it was a compliment." Setting down his glass of scotch he leaned forward. "I make it a point to befriend anyone with such an unnatural openness about them. Do you mind?"

The corners of her mouth turned up in a vague smile. "I think I would like that, Mr. Shore."

"Alan," he repeated. "So, when do we get to the part where I ask you all those annoying little questions that go along with new acquaintances?"

"Fire away." She replied, leaning forward ever so slightly. A hint of cleavage peeked out from under her blouse, but Alan was determined not to be distracted.

"Republican or Democrat?"

"Non-partisan. I like to keep my options open."

"Then why not vote Independent?"

"I'm not a masochist."

Alan smiled. "Liberal or conservative?"

"It depends on what shoes I'm wearing."

Alan glanced down her long, shapely legs to find a pair of navy stiletto heels – held on by a muted ribbon and beads. Forcing himself to look back up at her face – if by detour of her magnificent bosom – he chuckled. "You must be a liberal today."

She answered his smirk with her own. "Do you think I would be talking to you if I wasn't?"

"Not likely," he murmured, unsure of whether or not to be disappointed. Rather than waiting for a declared winner to their exchange, he plunged recklessly ahead. "So, I think all of this now begs to one obvious question."

"Please."

He leveled the full power of his gaze at her. "Your place or mine?"

"Neither," she said, her face frustratingly closed to him. He could find neither rejection nor acceptance in her eyes, and it unbalanced him. Even the Squid hadn't been this guarded, though she'd tried. "But I think I can give you this – for now."

Alan didn't dare breathe as she stood in one fluid motion and walked toward him. Though there was only five feet between them to begin with, it seemed to take her forever, and he was mesmerized by the sway of her ample hips. Alan shifted one hand to his leg when she began to settle on the arm of his chair. He sat motionless as she leaned over and pressed her lips gently to his. The kiss was short and chaste, and when she leaned back his mouth burned with the desire to run across the skin of her throat. He kept his arm glued to his leg, resisting the impulse to raise it instead to hers, and said nothing as she stared down at him. "Good evening, Mr. Shore," she said, her voice low. Then she was gone. Alan smelled one last whiff of her perfume and heard the slight swishing of her nylons as her thighs rubbed together. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the night sky, fully satisfied – for the moment.

"Were you two having sex on my balcony?" Denny's voice did not shock Alan, though he had to work hard to bring his mind back to the present.

"Far from it, Denny." He raised his scotch glass, pausing just before it reached his still seared lips. "She did kiss me, however."

"Just a kiss?" Denny sounded disappointed as he sat in the chair Michelle had left vacant. Alan wondered if he could ever look at that chair the same way again.

He forced himself to concentrate – to play the game. "If done properly, a kiss can be better than sex."

"Really?" Alan reveled in the silence that followed his friend's remark. "Do you think I could kiss her?" Alan chuckled.

"If she'll have you," he responded, in all sincerity.

"So, you'll let me…?"

"Kiss her. Yes, Denny, I will. Provided she agrees." Thinking back to their playful banter, Alan didn't doubt she would.

As long as she was wearing stilettos.

* * *

So… what'cha think?


End file.
